


The Meaning of Small Things

by aphelion_orion



Category: Lamento -BEYOND THE VOID-
Genre: M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelion_orion/pseuds/aphelion_orion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The spring festival, toys, and the importance of that person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meaning of Small Things

He tilted his head, stooping slightly to take a better look at the contraption half-hidden behind the flap of the overhang. The stall was laden with them, dozens hanging from the top and posts in colorful bunches like the fruits of a particularly strange tree. Some were wooden, and some were made of clay, some closed and some hollow, others were made of metal, painted, engraved or plain. They would strike against each other whenever a gust of wind swept through them, creating a shrill little cacophony of tinkles, whistles and clangs.

Polished stones and seashells were strung between the congregations of sticks, sometimes whimsically, sometimes with regularity. No matter their arrangement, they didn't appear to have any purpose other than to flash their colors brightly into the crowd, dangling beacons for children and attention-deficient cats.

He couldn't say what had made him curious about this one; in comparison to the others, it seemed simple, almost crude, its attachments roughly carved and painted by an unsteady hand. Slowly, he lifted one finger to tap one of the wooden disks, and it struck against the metal sticks with a soft chime.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The voice snapped him out of his concentration, the vendor's face smiling out at him from between the contraptions, and Rai realized with a start that he had been _playing_ , lured just like the gaggle of clamoring children trying to reach some of the lower toys.

"Hey, hey, careful with that," the vendor chided, peering around the pole, and they squealed, backing off a little. He turned back to Rai. "My little daughter wanted to try her hand at this. It's the first one she made, so it's not very good, but it has a rather pretty sound. Would you like to have it?"

Realizing that his fingers were still poised to strike the disk again, Rai quickly dropped his arm, glaring at the man. "No. What would I want with such a thing."

The vendor blinked, taken aback by the tone, but decided that it was better not to protest the insult of a six-foot angry swordsman.

"Having fun?"

Familiar voice, familiar scent, and Konoe slipped around his back, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the toys. "Wind chimes!"

"They're noisy."

Konoe gave him a look. "That's what they're there for. And you seemed to like them just fine a minute ago."

When the glare was leveled at him, he merely smiled. "It's not a crime, you know." He moved closer, tapping the wind chime Rai had been interested in, producing a bright, soft tone. "What a lovely voice."

"Voice?"

"That's what we used to call them, voices. Lots of people put those on their houses back home, before... before." He shook his head. "This one's got such a clear sound."

The vendor chuckled. "Yes, yes. My little one might not be good with a carving tool yet, but she's got a fair ear. Wouldn't take any of the chimes her papa gave her."

"Your daughter made this?" Konoe asked, his fingers toying with the disks, turning them lightly.

The man grinned as if he had just been waiting for the question, and Rai rolled his eye. "Yeah, she's almost seven."

"My mother once said that kids can hear things most adults can't," Konoe said, thoughtfully. "She said I used to follow the wind, claiming I could hear singing. I don't even remember. Isn't that odd?"

"Heh, my little Mina constantly says her dolls are talking to her. Who knows. Maybe they are." He shrugged. "Would you like to have this one?"

Konoe smiled somewhat ruefully. "We don't have a proper place to put it, I'm afraid. Sorry for wasting your time like that."

And with that, he grabbed Rai's hand, dragging him away from the stall and into the press of the Ransen crowd. Startled, Rai allowed himself to be pulled along for a few steps, surprised at the slide of the palm against his, the firm grip of the fingers closing around the back of his hand. Eventually, he realized what was happening, and stopped, pulling his hand away and bristling.

"Stop that."

Konoe turned. "Oh, you. If I'd kept you there much longer, you probably would have incinerated his stall just with your stare. Lighten up a little, he was only trying to be nice."

"Pushing useless stuff on people."

"That's his job." Konoe shook his head, barely able to contain a smile. "Besides, you liked them, didn't you."

"No. As I said, they're noisy and useless."

"What things in life are useful," Konoe said philosophically. "Here. Take this, for example. Is it useful?" He held his other hand out to Rai, revealing that he had been carrying something this whole time—two large, sticky buns wrapped in linen napkins, practically oozing caramel. Rai wrinkled his nose.

"No."

Shrugging, Konoe pulled the two buns apart, and bit into one. More caramel squirted out, dribbling onto the napkin and his fingers, so he spent a few moments cleaning his hand before answering. "So? I still wanted it. And here's yours." He nudged the other bun towards Rai again. "I even blew on it, so it's not hot anymore."

Rai hissed, his ears flattening at having his weakness pointed out to him. "I never asked to waste money on useless stuff."

"I can see your nose twitching, you know. Here." He wiped off the caramel with one finger and unceremoniously stuck it in Rai's mouth. "You horrible grouch."

The caramel was the kind of overwhelmingly sweet, sticky thing that only a child could truly enjoy, clinging to his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Konoe pulled back his hand, leaving the faint aftertaste of honey, and he caught it without thinking, bending forward to lick his fingers clean.

When he leaned back again, Konoe laughed. "That tickles. Bun now?"

"Fine. I don't waste food."

"Of course not."

"Stupid cat."

They walked on, and Rai couldn't shake the feeling that he had lost despite everything, from the way Konoe's tail was swishing from side to side.

"Stop frowning, it's going to be permanent," Konoe said after a while, before busying himself with his treat again.

"Stop talking, you're starting to sound like the old man."

"You just hate it when Bardo's right."

"He says many things when the day is long. That doesn't make them right."

Konoe grinned, his ears perking, obviously enjoying himself. "He told me you like those. Said you used to eat them all the time when you were, what was it? 'A fluffy little wide-eyed runt.'"

Rai almost spat out his bite. "I'm going to kill the bastard."

"No!" Konoe exclaimed, quickly wrestling down his arm before he could reach for his sword and stalk off to make good on his promise. "No, that would ruin a nice day." He thought for a moment. "It's just something parents do, I think. My mother called me a little beansprout because I wouldn't grow for the longest time."

A beansprout. His mind produced the absolutely idiotic image of Konoe with a pair of leaves on top of his head. Rai shook his head, sizing his sanga up and trying to decide how small one had to be before one deserved to be insulted as 'beansprout'. It was even more bizarre that Konoe didn't seem to mind at all, when he was usually so quick to protest comments about his height. Perhaps it was a thing mothers did, and that made it different. Unbidden, the memory of a silver-haired woman rose in his mind, but try as he might, he couldn't picture her calling him 'beansprout' in that hard, cold voice, couldn't picture her calling him anything at all. The only time she had called his name, it had been a scream, and then—

He cut off the thought, gritting his teeth against the sudden sting in his chest. "...I wouldn't know."

Konoe's tail brushed against him, the crooked tip he was so ashamed of curling briefly around his own. The hand wrapped around his arm squeezed gently. "I know. That's why I'm saying it, so you can know."

Rai drew himself up, shaking his head. "Besides, that guy is hardly a parent."

"That doesn't seem to matter to him," Konoe said quietly, before giving a little tug, pulling them further into the throng and leaving Rai to puzzle out his words.

More people bumped against them as they walked, the street packed tight with cats drifting from stall to stall, shrieking children scampering this way and that, waving fistfuls of flowers or food and nagging loudly whenever they discovered a new thing. Here and there, objects suddenly sprang out of the crowd, soaring through the air before disappearing again, street performers tossing staves, balls and bottles. Eventually, Konoe let go of his arm, quickening his step at the sight of a large wooden platform rising up between the stands. Cats were clustering around it with interest as workers were pushing up poles with strings of flags attached, waving in the spring air.

"What's going on there?"

Rai followed at his own pace, catching up to his partner trying to balance on tiptoe to read a sign.

"Probably the competition."

"Competition?"

Rai squinted at the almost illegible scrawl on the board. "They're holding a poetry competition here every year. People get up on stage and perform a song or play an instrument. Open participation, applause decides the winner."

"Sounds like fun."

Rai glanced at him. "They're still accepting contestants. You could apply if you want."

"Huh?"

He smirked. "I'm sure you'd stand out among the usual caterwaulers. At least a little."

There were many things that could get Konoe beautifully flustered, but comments about singing were one of the easiest ways to watch him blush and squirm. He had never seen a sanga so reluctant to do what was second nature to him, even in private, when most of them were only too happy to perform in public.

Konoe had ducked his head to hide the redness creeping into his cheeks. "I doubt they'd accept someone using his powers. That'd be cheating."

"So?"

"Don't be stupid, I'm not a bard."

"You certainly sing often enough when you're working. Like an old washerwoman."

Konoe sputtered, forgetting that he was trying to conceal his face. "Cheater!"

"Cheater?" Rai asked, letting a smirk settle on his lips.

"You were supposed to be asleep!"

"Nobody could sleep with you making all that noise."

Konoe deflated, his ears drooping in abject misery. "If it's that bad, I don't see why I should make even more of a fool out of myself."

"I never said it was bad," Rai grumbled, frowning and trying to determine what had gone wrong—by his calculations, Konoe should have been puffing himself up and yelling, not looking as if he'd just been struck.

Konoe mumbled something into the collar of his cloak.

"What."

"You said it woke you up."

"I never said it was unpleasant to wake up to."

"Stupid." The blush was back full force, and Konoe shook his head, rubbing a hand across his cheeks. He straightened. "I said I won't sing for others, and I meant it. Even if it's bad."

"Stupid cat. I just said it wasn't—"

"Thanks. ...Cheater."

The swishing tail was back, as was the gleam in Konoe's eyes, and Rai glared, not liking to admit how much these shifts left him feeling out of his depth, Konoe going from sad to grateful to teasing without so much as a pause, barely anything to suggest what he would say in a given moment. It made him feel stupid, trying to cobble together a reply that would suit these moods, when most of them seemed so alien to him. Normal people managed, didn't they? Normal people wouldn't have to flounder; they would know what to say.

Scowling into the rest of his caramel bun, he followed his partner as he moved on, away from the platform and back towards the rows of stalls and their goods. He was so deep in thought that he almost collided with Konoe's back when he suddenly stopped.

"Oh, look at that!"

"What is it now?"

Konoe didn't answer, quickly slipping through the press of bodies towards a stand on the other side.

Toys. Of course it would be toys again, since Konoe had a never-ending fascination with all kinds of childish clutter. This time, the clutter took the form of figurines, carved from wood or sewn from cloth, a virtual menagerie of birds, mice and rabbits—even a fish and a deer or two. Some of them were very lifelike, while others could barely be identified as belonging to some sort of species, like the pudgy white thing Konoe had picked up, turning it over in his hands.

"What's that supposed to be."

"You know... I'm not sure," Konoe said, examining the stuffed toy. "Vaguely reminds me of a rabbit."

"That's hardly a rabbit. It doesn't have any paws. And it's wearing a dress."

Konoe chuckled. "I guess you're right. But then again, little kids don't really care what they play with."

"I fail to see the educational value in giving them an animal that isn't an animal," Rai muttered, eyeing the toy critically. "How are they supposed to learn anything about it if it doesn't even look like the proper thing?"

"I... don't think that's the idea behind it. I used to have a whole bunch of cat dolls when I was little, and they all had giant heads."

When Rai made a face, he smiled. "My mother made them for me. She said she always wanted a big family so I'd have lots of brothers and sisters to play with. But since that wasn't happening... she gave me these so I wouldn't be lonely."

"What good does it do to pretend to have things that don't exist?"

"It soothes the heart. Didn't you have anything like that? Something that was precious to you, that you were glad to have?"

He couldn't help the involuntary twitch to his hip, where the dagger was resting in its sheath. It was hardly anything like a toy, but it was the only thing of value he could remember having, even if he hadn't liked to think about it for the longest time because it came with a memory. A memory of big, calloused hands closing his fingers around the leather sheath, a feeling that would haunt him for months, forcing him to take out the gift from time to time and squeeze it, hoping to recall the warmth from those hands.

A sudden weight slumping against him drew him out of his thoughts to catch sight of the tousled head leaning against his collarbone, hands coming up to rest against his back. He stiffened, unsure, something somewhere inside him urging him to respond to the gesture accordingly, but the rest of him could barely figure out what he had done to receive it.

The stall owner was gaping stupidly, and Rai thought they probably had to present a pretty stupid picture, two armed bounty hunters hugging in front of an array of children's toys, but for the moment, he didn't really care.

"It shouldn't be that hard," Konoe murmured into his shirt. "It's not fair that it should be that hard."

He shrugged, bothered by the thought that Konoe should find his existence so pathetic that he would require comfort for it. "It's what it is. There's no reason for you to—"

"If you say one word about pity, I'll hurt you," Konoe threatened, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder. "My feelings for you have got nothing to do with pity."

Konoe drew back, looking at him with bright, warm eyes and a hint of fierceness in the set of his mouth, leaving him to wonder how a single person could express so much on the outside at every moment when he himself could barely express anything at all on the inside.

"I know it's what it is. But that doesn't mean it has to stay like that. I'll just have to keeping telling you and showing you and offering you."

"Offering what?"

A smile, warmer than any memory. "Whatever it is that soothes your heart."

\- Fin -

\----

 **A/N:** Poor Rai, he breaks my heart every time I play that game. Comments are welcome.


End file.
